Beedle
by SheWhoWritesFanfiction
Summary: 'Shakespeare in Love' with Beedle the Bard :P ONESHOT


**AN**: An attempt by me to write something set in medieval wizarding times; based around Beedle (of 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard' fame) as he pens some of his more famous stories, and what was going on in his life as he did so, 'Shakespeare in Love' style.

A cold winter's morning. The frost seemed to cling to the sun itself, rising reluctantly from the horizon like a boy forced to get up and eat his breakfast. Beedle swallowed his lumpy porridge reluctantly, before scuttling off to his room again, back to the rough, but warm covers of his bed and the magical crackling of the tough paper and awkward quill. Despite his pure-blooded heritage, Beedle felt that his world was significantly lacking in stories; the tales of knights, dragons, wizards, which were all the better once he heard them, for, unlike the muggle children who repeated them like awe-struck parrots, he knew that they were perfectly possible.

Though the tales of muggles were often interesting and pretty, they relied on the shock value of a man expelling water and sparks from the end of a stick – basic wandplay which was supposed to be a thrilling fight scene, but bored Beedle as it was all as mundane as the carefully hidden exploits of his parents, who were well-versed in the art of magic.

Beedle wished to combine the two worlds which he lived in; the tales of the muggle children of the village, and the majestic thrills, morals, and ideas which surrounded him in his own wizaarding home. And so, on a cold winter's morning, Beedle promised himself that that was exactly what he would do. He and his parents had always had good relations to the village's muggles – though they did not trust them with the information of their supernatural abilities – and he decided that he must write a story based on that. Maybe, if he told it to the village children, then he could inform them of his family's unusual talents.

Though his parents forbade he tell of their wands and their cauldrons, and especially the more intelligent of the cats, he was given permission to tell his peers of an old wizard who loved his muggle neighbours, and punished any who would do them wrong – a small girl dubbed it 'Hop-Pot' the second he had completed his first telling. Since then, he was pestered to tell it, again and again; and though he wrote a few, weaker tales, 'Hop-Pot' was always the town favourite.

As he matured, Beedle's storytelling talents only improved; as his first tale had been written when he was not yet ten years old, as he entered the adolescent years he felt that he must write something a little more… intricate. He took four sad tales he had penned in the past, (tales which never failed to bring adults and children, muggle and wizard alike to tears) and decided that he would end them all in a dashing adventure, in which the four main characters would finally meet with fair fortune.

Three witches, lovelorn, robbed, and ill; and a muggle knight, so as to interest the muggles a little better, and what a perfect end! Surely, it would please all who would hear it!

And it did.

As he became an adult, news of his talent spread across the land; visitors came to the village to hear of his tales, increasing trade, and so all who lived in the village were grateful to and in debt to Beedle. He decided that he would tell all the travellers and tourists who came that soon, he would have a new story; not a short, unfinished, or half-baked children's tale, but a fine and intriguing tale – though, truth be told, he did not yet know what it would be.

He was sadly free of visitors for the next few days, until he heard a knock early one afternoon. Rushing to the door, Beedle's eyes saw a most beautiful maiden – so fair-skinned, her hair long and flowing, her petite nose and mouth, the mouth which spoke;

"Please, is this the house of the great story-teller, Beedle the Bard?" Beedle was silent for a few seconds, before coming to his senses and inviting her inside. He treated her with exquisite hospitality; he gave her the sweetest, freshest fruit, the best wine (though he did not have much), and told her at length his most poetic and exciting tales, all the way back to 'Hop-Pot', and each time his words made her smile, his heart leapt in a way he had never experienced before.

Sadly, he discovered; she was a muggle, and a traveller; he would be disowned if he pursued her, and he knew that he could not travel; he had no head for it. So, he bade her stay for a night, in a guest room (little did she know, that she was to sleep in his bed, and he would sleep on some blankets on the floor of his cottage) – and then another, and another, and each time Beedle would trap her with sweet words and stories, eventually falling to his knees when she insisted that she must leave;

"Please, o sweetest and most beautiful of maids; I will surely die if you leave my company!" But she refused, and grew afraid of the despair in his eyes, and left – never to be seen again.

The tale that he told on his special day was not a comedy; nor an adventure, nor a cautionary tale; it was a woeful and desperate tale, of a young warlock who had wished for it, but eventually succumbed to, his heart.

As his fame spread, Beedle was visited by more and more muggles and wizards – all wished to hear of his tales, and eventually, so did the king – he sent a page to Beedle's door, bearing a message, a message that he must come to the king's court as soon as time would allow. Beedle smiled, and told the page that not only would he entertain the king with his most excellent stories of love, tragedy, and humour, but he would tell him a new tale; one never heard before. This delighted the king, who eagerly awaited the arrival of the famous Bard.

Beedle was received in the king's court with open arms and a cheerful spirit. The king asked that his court hear his new tale along with his majesty, so that they may also marvel at the wit of Beedle's words. Beedle smiled, like a rouge preparing a dastardly trick, and proceeded to tell a daring fable of a foolish king, who sent for a wizard to come to his court and teach him to entertain the inhabitants. When the tale was over, the queen and all her handmaidens and all the king's men held their breath, nervously awaiting the king's thoughts on the daring story – though Beedle remained confident.

The hall echoed with the king's booming laughter, and he told Beedle;

"Well done, o Bard, though you are a most daring pest, you are certainly the most excellent story-teller in the land!"At this, the court sighed and laughed along with the king, and Beedle went on to tell of his other stories; starting with his first and foremost; 'Hop-Pot'.

Beedle was, mostly, happy with his life. Though he still thought of his sweet travelling maiden, he had done what he had set out to do as a young boy; he had told his stories, to the king, even, and once he had returned to tell the king's children of his many characters; but that had been long ago. Now, he was an old man, and Beedle tired of visitors. He passed all his many woks on to the king's eldest son, who was most thankful, and the old Bard felt as though his life was almost complete.

As he lay in his bedchamber, he began to feel an itch; he had not felt it in a long time; the urge to tell a story. His last story. He sat up, and sent for paper, and ink, and a quill; and by the next day, he stood in front of the prince. He took from his robes a manuscript, and proceeded to tell the prince of three brothers; one who wished to be powerful, one who pined for a lost love, and one who was sharp of mind. Handing the papers to the prince, he gave him a piece of advice;

"My prince, I wish that you will read this tale when you can, and that you will rule this great land with the wisdom of the third brother."


End file.
